No one said a word as you looked down at the ground. You were Ashamed at how you felt. There was so much power in your given name, the power you actually grew to love, but sad at what that meant for you. "Yes" you manage to say, their eyes trained on you. Your jaw clenches with the mix of raw emotions that were flooding to the surface. Pain. Grief. Anger. Sorrow. But also a will to do better, to become more.
Nobody knew what to say. So you decided to start at the very beginning...
***BACK-STORY***
You were only 6 when it first began. You were drawing at the kitchen table, your mom making something for a visitor who stopped by. You didn't have very many memories with your mother, but the few good ones you managed to keep were always with her in the kitchen. Your father had left on a business trip promising to be back in a few days. You always thought it was rather strange that your family had so many people constantly in and out of the house, but you knew that what your family did was for a good purpose. For aiding in the battle of good and evil.
Your mother was a witch and a well-known one at that. Most of the people coming through were actually not always 'people' per se, but rather good creatures with a bad reputation. Yes, the occasional hunter would stop by, but most didn't know of my mom, and my dad intended to keep it that way. The few who did know her knew she wasn't a witch of the Grand Coven and that the little magic she possessed was only used for good. Your mother was a naturalist, meaning she was born with the abilities, but never really wanted to expand them. Instead, she developed more of a hobby for spells, cures, and potions that could only be used in good faith and never to do harm. She had taught you many of these things growing up- simple healing spells and potions to do all sorts of interesting things. These were your good memories.
You never really knew too much of the supernatural world, but you did know who were the good guys and who were the bad, and that's all the really mattered. Now and then, there would be gray area, which is why your mother always taught you to not judge a book by its cover, but always fact check the contents.
Your father had come home early from his trip, and at first, everything seemed normal to you but being so young, you know you wouldn't have noticed the signs. Your mother had been very jumpy around your father, and something was different between them. She had kept her distance, their usual routines were off. It just seemed so.. disparate.
One night, you woke up to hear screaming coming from downstairs. Your mother always told you that if there was something wrong to call the emergency number she had given you and hide. Your little brain couldn't process what your mother had engraved into your head and you knew that she was the one that was in trouble.
Being brave you rushed down the stairs, trying to stay as quiet as you could to avoid being caught and peered around the open dining room. Your dad was standing behind the table looking at something on the floor. "Daddy?" you ask inquisitively, walking over to be close to him. He turned around to watch you as you approached. He watched as your skin paled from the sight before you. Your first encounter with death. The death of your mother. Your eyes welled up with tears seeing the blood coating the ground, pooling beside her lifeless body. It felt like hours you were like that. In the dark. In the cold. Alone. But you realized you were not alone. You turned towards your dad seeking comfort in his musty smell and stubbly kisses. That is when you realized that this was not your dad, not anymore. His eyes were on you and a smirk grew upon his lips.
"This is your fault you know" he said to you. "Her blood is on your hands".
Those words would haunt you for the rest of your life.... "This is your fault you know". His eyes flashed black and then back to normal, confirming the knot that was forming in your stomach.
You ran, or at least tried to. He quickly grabbed you, forcefully pulling your hair bringing you into submission. "Stop crying" he yelled, scaring you enough that your tears stopped temporarily. "If you stop struggling I promise I will let you go". You should have known better than to trust a demon, especially knowing what you knew now. Compared with what he is going to do, you would rather have chosen death.
*******
It had been a couple of months of being locked in the basement. The demon who had possessed your dad had kept you chained down on a wooden table for a majority of the time, only letting you up to eat, use the restroom, and on occasion walk around the house.
Almost every day, a handful of demons would come downstairs to drop off supplies for the guy in charge of you. They would watch as he would inject veils of unknown substances into your veins. They would make you sick and hurt. You remember being so sick one of the days they did a couple of rounds at once that you were coughing up blood. It seemed to get worse and worse as they continued, but finally one day, you were saved. It was one of the best days of your life. A short man in a fancy suit walked down the stairs yelling some form of hello to the men at the bottom. You remember all of the frightened looks on their faces as he approached them.
"What have we got here?" he asked in a thick accent. He walked towards you staring at your frightened little face. "A little hodgepodge of what? Human?Demon? Witch? Vampire? Mermaid? What?"
He walked around the room looking at all the instruments they had used on you, all of the empty veils and paperwork scattered across shelving.
"Why should we tell you?" One of the visiting demons asked.
"Maybe because I AM THE KING OF HELL"
The demons all just looked at him, until a different one spoke up. "And who gave you the right to be king?"
With that, all you remember was a lot of fighting and a lot more demons coming to the 'King of Hell's' aid.
Eventually, you were unlocked from your bindings and pushed to stand up before the well-suited man. You looked up into his eyes, scared, and worried about what was going to happen to you. You started to cry slightly, fighting back the streams of tears.
"And what's your name kitten?" he asked.
"y/n" you reply quietly.
He bent down to look at you at eye level. "Why that's a pretty name for a young lass like you. How long have they kept you?"
You stopped crying, realizing he was just trying to figure out what was happening. You shrug your response and he just nods. Trying to think of what to do.
"Thank you" your little voice squeak's out. You walked up and hugged him. At first, he was stunned, but eventually, he awkwardly hugged you back. "Well kitten, looks like I am going to be taking care of you"
Eventually, you figured out his name was Crowley and was literally the King of Hell. The beginning of your time in Hell was spent with him. He would watch you as he took care of business, as usual, letting you wander around the thrown room and play fetch with the hell-hounds (you don't even want to know what they used as a toy). In his spare time, Crowley would teach you math, various languages, and any other basic necessities you needed. As you got older you started researching into more about lore and looking into what your mother had taught you. However, you were never really taught about what hell was really like. Outside of your room, Crowley's chambers, and the thrown room you knew nothing.
Eventually, after a year (more like 10 years in Hell) you were almost 9 (though acted more like a 20-year-old) and he decided it was time for you to join the business. You were basically his daughter after all, though he didn't always treat you like one. He told you what he knew about you. He told you that you were no longer human, only half of you was. The rest was a demon, and therefore you should join the demon business. No human would want you anyways. He convinced you that this is where you belonged. That is what you should do with your life.
He explained that being half-human would be an advantage for you. You would not have to possess people or worry about salt, holy water, or exorcisms. He also explained that though you didn't technically possess any demon powers other than a little enhanced strength, if you signed the contract to work for him, you would be granted access to teleportation, telekinesis, and virtually anything else a demon might need.
You knew what your mother had taught you. She told you that demons were the bad guys. They could never be good and refused his offer. He gave you an ultimatum. Work for him or be tortured. Not understanding what it fully meant, you chose torture. You were tortured for years, and at the end of every year Crowley would come and ask if you were ready yet, and again you would refuse. After the first three years of this, Crowley got annoyed. His demons were not hard enough on you, so he went to a couple of demons who had spent time with Lucifer himself, learning the dirtiest tricks in the trade, even worse than Alistar. They broke you in ways you didn't think you could break, and after 6 months you agreed to work for Crowley.
Since then, you had been developing your skills for torture, killing, collecting rare objects, making deals, and other necessary business around Hell. At first, you didn't enjoy it, but slowly you learned to push your human emotions aside and life became better. Soon you were excelling at every task set before you and became the top dog in Hell. No one messed with you. You were ruthless and heartless. You didn't care who came in your way. If they were being a problem or even glanced at you wrong, they would soon regret it.
The job became a need. A way to escape from the bubbling up human emotions that would reach the top on rare occasions, so you would bury them in dirty work. And pretty soon you no longer were y/n.
You became Sparta.
That is.. until you met Bobby.
*Sorry I would write more in this chapter but I didn't want it to get too long*